


Feed Your Fear

by LogicallySerial



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-26 14:57:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19008121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicallySerial/pseuds/LogicallySerial
Summary: In which Dr Hannibal Lecter takes a less professional approach to manipulating Will Graham.





	1. Apéritif

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to skip this first chapter- it is an almost exact fully-written scripture of the first episode, plus two edited interactions (Hannibal bringing Will breakfast and Will finding Hannibal at the hospital with Abigail).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's thoughts are intruded on by one Garrett Jacob Hobbs, and he finds a new thread of peace in Dr Hannibal Lecter.

"Tell me then, how many confessions?" Doctor Hannibal Lecter leans in to look at the map on the wall, hands in the pockets of his finely tailored suit. 

"Twelve dozen, last time I checked," Jack says, and moves away from the cork board scattered with yarn and missing girls. "None of them had any details. Until this morning. Then they all had details." Jack sits, frustration furrowing his brows. Will's gaze follows him. "Some genius in Duluth PD took a picture of Elise Nichols' body and shared it with a few close friends. Freddy Lounds-" (Will can sense the mounting frustration like a new kind of humidity in the air), "ran it on TattleCrime.com." 

"Tasteless," Will spits, and his voice is not filled with frustration but with disgust. Hannibal turns around from the cork board, eyebrow quirked ever so slightly. He moves to sit down next to Will.

"Do you have trouble with taste?" he asks. Will inclines his head.

"My thoughts are often not tasty." 

Hannibal's lips are drawn up into a slight smile. "Nor mine. No effective barriers."

Will lifts his cup and pauses to dispute. "I make forts." He sips his coffee. 

"Associations come quickly," Hannibal says, sitting down and folding his legs neatly. Will glances at him and back, resting the cup back onto the table. He turns his head away, eyes scanning the coffee swirling in his mug. 

"So do forts." 

A moment of silence as Will's attention remains on his coffee. Jack looks past the two of them, mind still mulling over the case. "Not fond of eye contact, are you?" Hannibal says, lifting his own mug and taking a sip, his eyes straining for Will's. Will sighs.

"Eyes are distracting. You see too much, you don't see enough. A- And it's hard to focus when you're thinking-" Will trains his gaze to Hannibal's now, to make his point, "oh, those whites are really white, or they must have hepatitis or is that a burst blood vein? So yeah, I try to avoid eye contact whenever possible." He ends in a mutter, and Hannibal chuckles, eyes slipping down to his mug, undeterred.

"I imagine that what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind. Your values and decency are present yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love." Hannibal can sense Will's unease immediately, and starts to apologize, but is interrupted by Will's furious, flighty response.

"Who's profile are you working on?" he says, voice raised a pitch. He turns to Jack, snapping him out of his contemplative trance. "Whose profile is he working on?"

Hannibal turns his head up as Will stands. "My apologies, Will. Observing is what we do. I can't shut mine off any more than you can shut your's off." Will, still reeling, scoffs, keeping his focus on Jack. 

"Please don't psychoanalyze me. You won't like me when I'm psychoanalyzed." He gathers his things and pushes in his chair. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go give a lecture. On psychoanalyzing." He turns and exits the room, not stopping to look back before he shuts the door (as he can't shut off his mind) with perhaps more force than what was necessary.

***

A rapping on Will's door startles him, and he moves to the door, opening as he is still wrapping a robe around himself. He glances up at Hannibal, eyes darting around in search of Jack. 

"Good morning Will, may I come in?" Will stares at him.

"Where's Crawford?" 

Hannibal pauses slightly. "Deposed in court. The adventure will be yours and mine today," he opens his mouth to add something else but decides against it. "May I come in?" he asks again, gesturing towards the open room behind Will. After a moment, Will nods, shaking off his surprise at the house call.

He steps aside to let Hannibal in, and they settle at the table by the curtained window. Hannibal begins to open Tupperware containers for two, explaining the dish as Will pours them coffee from the thermos Hannibal had brought. "I'm very careful about what I put into my body. Which means I end up preparing most meals myself. A little protein scramble to start the day. Some eggs, some sausage." He passes Will one of the containers and scrapes his own eggs onto his plate, waiting for Will to take a bite.

Will eyes the eggs and finally spears a piece of sausage onto his fork, chewing it for a moment before he nods his appreciation. "It's delicious, thank you," he says with (alarming) sincerity. 

Hannibal smiles but manages to hide his genuine amusement. "My pleasure." Only now does Hannibal take his own bite. After enjoying the eggs for a minute in silence, he continues. "I would apologize for my analytical ambush but I know I will soon be apologizing again and you'll tire of that eventually, so I must consider using my apologies sparingly."

Will inclines his head. "Just keep it professional," he says quietly. Hannibal pauses, fork suspended in the air before he takes another bite. 

"Or we could socialize like adults. God forbid we become friendly."

Will glances up at him and backs down to his food. "I don't find you that interesting."

Hannibal smiles. "You will." He looks up at Will to find his gaze, but Will's attention is still on one piece of egg. "Agent Crawford tells me you have a knack for the monsters."

Will meets his gaze now, only for a moment. "That's a superstition." Hannibal collects what he can from his eyes and moves on.

"I called your good friend Dr. Bloom about you. She wouldn't gossip, not a word. She's very protective of you. Smitten, I would say. She asked me to keep an eye on you." Will scoffs and tries to cover it up with a cough. 

"Don't try too hard to keep an eye on me. You may become smitten as well. I'm a real charmer." Hannibal chuckles and Will frowns, studying Hannibal. Maybe he should keep to his own professionalism rule.

"I don't think the shrike killed that girl in the field," he says. Hannibal peers at him.

"An interesting change of topic. However. What didn't your Copy Cat do to the girl in the field? What gave it away?" 

Will laughs, sharp and nearly breathless. He brings his hand to his brow, sliding down his face. He waves it for emphasis- "Everything," he chokes. He places his hand on the table, palm turned upward. "It's like he had to show me a negative so I could see the positive. That crime scene was practically gift-wrapped," he says, waving his hand once more before returning to his food, eyebrows now knit together in thought.

Hannibal studies him for a moment and resumes eating. "The mathematics of human behavior. All those ugly variables. Some bad math with this shrike fellow," he takes a bite to pause. "Are you reconstructing his fantasies? What kind of problems does he have?" 

Will laughs a bit, "A few." 

"Ever have any problems, Will?" Hannibal asks, almost with a wink. 

"No."

Hannibal smiles. "Of course you don't. You and I are just alike. Problem free. Nothing about us to feel horrible about." Another bite. "I think Jack sees you as a fragile little teacup, the finest china used only for special guests."

"And how do you see me?"

He thinks for a moment, studying Will once more. "The mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by." He takes the last bite of his eggs and nods to Will's. "Finish your breakfast."

***

Hannibal and Will visit the construction site they traced the bit of metal Beverly Katz found on Elise Nichols' gown to. Looking through the files, Will studies a resignation form, "Garrett Jacob Hobbs". After Will studies the paper for a beat too long, Hannibal moves to his side. "What is it about Garrett Jacob Hobbs you find so peculiar?" Will looks at him.

"Left a phone number. No address." He goes back to looking over the form. 

"Therefore he has something to hide?" Will dismisses that with a shrug of the shoulder. 

"An inconsistency." He turns to Dixie, the pretty, dark-haired girl with her arms folded as she watches them. "You have an address for Hobbs?"

***

As he lets the engine of his rental car roll to a halt, Will pops an aspirin. The Hobbs household stands in front of them, a simple, well-to-do home with nothing distinguishing it from the next. As Hannibal unbuckles his seat, he smiles, a hint of excitement evident. Will pauses before he steps out of the car. 

He walks up to the door, trying to look purposeful and not as uncomfortable as he feels. Hannibal lags behind, waiting. Will is halfway to the door when it opens, and a wheezing, bloodied Mrs. Hobbs is thrown down onto the porch of the house. Will rushes to her, and as she grabs his wrist haltingly, he knows she is gone. He clutches her neck and tries not to watch the last flickers of pain and fear leave her face. He turns to the slammed door and stands, ramming it with his whole weight.

Hannibal strolls, unbothered, up to the path and barely looks at Mrs. Hobbs' body as he steps purposefully over it, watching Will unbuckle his gun from the holster and charge into the home.

Will moves frantically from room to room, gun raised and unwavering. "Garrett Jacob Hobbs? F.B.I." he addresses. He kicks the door to the living room open, gun sweeping the room first. His adrenaline allows him to overlook the blood of Mrs. Hobbs sprayed on every wall. 

He pushes the next door open, ears trained on the gasps of panic and anger. He lowers his gun an inch at the sight in the kitchen. Hobbs, his daughter Abigail pulled taut against him, a knife's blade pushing a dent into her skin. He raises his gun as time slows and Hobbs cuts a streak into his daughter's neck. She falls, and ten stuttering gunshots sound. Hobbs reels back, collapsing into the cabinet corner as ten red flowers bloom on his chest. 

Will rushes to Abigail, kneeling in her pooling blood and pushing at her neck to stop the bleeding. He scoops her into his lap, eyes darting, everywhere, at the blood, everywhere. He holds her tight and tries not to watch the last flickers of pain and fear leave her face when Hannibal enters, hands unsheathed from his pockets, ready to kneel and push the ends of Abigail's wounds together. Will relinquishes the girl, whirling on Hobbs as he he hisses: "See? See?" The reflections in Will's eyes dance as he turns back to Hannibal, whose sight is trained on Will and Will alone. Will doesn't look away.

***

Will, walking through the halls of the hospital, hands clenched into fists in his pockets. Room 408's plaque on the edge of his sight, he turns into the room and blinks. Hannibal, lax hand brushing against Abigail's in a tiny comfort. Will watches him for a moment, something warm pooling in his chest. He silently sinks into the empty chair next to Hannibal, not even glancing at the one on the other side of Abigail's bed. He considers his own tiny comfort, but lets it melt as Hannibal stirs. He watches his unconscious care for the girl they both saved.


	2. Amuse-Bouche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has conversations with Hannibal about their daughter. Hannibal invites Will over for dinner, but time is filled by a shapeshifting gardener.

After class, Alana visits Will in the dark lecture hall. The students file out, a few of them stopping at the bottom seats and shooting a pitying glance at Will. He ignores them, and Alana, too, until she approaches. 

"How are you, Will?" She asks, stopping in front of his desk. Will smiles.

"I have no idea." Alana smiles too, more pained.

"That may change. I didn't want you to be ambushed-"

"This is an ambush?"

"Ambush is later. Immediately later. Soon to now," she explains, and with a sigh: "When Jack arrives, consider yourself ambushed." Behind her, Jack navigates the remaining trainees, face set with a solemn mask of determination. 

"Here's Jack," Will mutters.

"How was class?" Jack says, coming to a halt in front of Will and folding his arms. His mask sets a somber mood. Will goes about gathering his folders. 

"They applauded. It was inappropriate." Jack chuckles slightly, attention following Will has he circles the desk.

"Review board begs to differ. You're up for commendation and they okayed active return to the field." Will looks at him, between pleasure and apprehension.

Alana sighs again, crossing her own arms. "Question is, do you want to return to the field?" Jack turns on her, then back to Will, scowling.

"I want you to go back in the field, but I told the board I'm recommending a psych evaluation." Will glances to Alana, who holds an apology in her eyes. 

"We starting now?" he says, stacking the last of his folders and cupping an elbow in each palm. The three of them, crossed arms, staring each other down. A standoff, of sorts.

"Session wouldn't be with me," Alana assures.

"Hannibal Lecter might be a better fit. Your relationship's not personal. But if you'd be more comfortable with Dr. Bloom," Jack continues, "we could always arrange that. We have your best interests in mind, Will." Will scoffs, picking up his stacked folders.

"I'm not going to be comfortable with anybody inside my head," he says. Alana creases her brows in concern, letting her hands fall to her sides.

"You've never killed someone before, Will. It's a deadly force encounter," she says with more animation than Will deems necessary. "It's a lot to digest."

"I used to work homicide. I've got a good metabolism," he says, slinging his jacket over his arm and starts for the door. 

Jack turns to watch him leave. "The reason you currently 'used to' work homicide was because you couldn't stomach pulling the trigger. You just pulled the trigger ten times," he says, voice raised. This stops Will, turns him around.

"So psych eval's not a formality?"

"It's so I can get to sleep at night. I asked you to get close to Hobbs, I need to know you didn't get too close." He stares at Will for a moment, pinning him down. "How many times have you spent the night in Abigail Hobbs' hospital room?" Will pauses, opens and closes his mouth, a fish hooked on a line he can't see.

"Therapy doesn't work on me."

"'Cause you won't let it!" Jack says, finally uncrossing his stern arms.

"'Cause I know all the tricks," Will says with finality. He crosses the rest of the room and leaves without looking back. 

"I need my beauty sleep, Will!" Jack calls after him. He pounds his fist down on the desk, frustration pressing his lips together. Alana shoots Will a supportive smile, but he's already gone.

***

That evening, Hannibal welcomes Will into his large, open office. Red striped curtains cast pink glimmers across the dark floor, and Will studies them from his perch on the library's balcony. Hannibal peers at him as he slides a sheet of paper onto the table between two square, plush seats. Will looks down at him.

"What's that?" he demands, pacing the balcony. Hannibal's gaze is steadfast, and he smiles slightly.

"Your Psychological Evaluation. You're totally functional and more or less sane. Well done."

"Did you just rubber stamp me?" Will scoffs. Hannibal's smile unfolds, and he doesn't bother hiding his genuine amusement.

"Jack Crawford may lay his weary head to rest knowing he didn't break you, and our conversation can continue unobstructed by paperwork." Will stops pacing and leans against the rail. 

"Conversation?" he says, distantly quizzical.

Hannibal cocks his head. "Yes. I am not formally your psychiatrist, for according to my professional, medical opinion, you don't need one."

"Then what's stopping me from leaving right now?" Will continues pacing.

"Nothing. I can escort you out if you wish." He sounds genuinely willing to relinquish his grip on Will's company, and that alone makes Will determined to remain.

"Then what do I need?"

Hannibal sits down at his desk, unbuttoning his jacket and folding his hands in one smooth motion. Will watches him, his unconscious but deliberate grace. "What you need is a way out of dark places when Jack sends you there." They look at each other from across the room, the first real eye contact since Will's sarcasm in Jack's office.

"Last time he sent me to a dark place I brought something back," he says. Hannibal considers this, gaze soaking in Will's delicate, rugged features. 

"A surrogate daughter?" Will considers fighting this, but gives in and nods. So does Hannibal. "I see. These paternal feelings, Will. Do you feel as if she may deem herself your daughter, were she to wake?"

"When," (he places emphasis on the "when"), "she awakes. I can only hope she'll return my familial emotions." He turns away from Hannibal again with a heavy exhale. "And- And it's not as if I'm alone with these 'paternal feelings'. Am I, doctor?" Will almost smirks, spearing Hannibal with a knowing stare. Hannibal struggles with this accusation. A new feeling for him, to be seen so unusually clearly and correctly.

"No, I suppose not. Tell me, Will. What do you see in me?"

"You were there. You saved her life too." He pauses, considering. "You feel obligated." Hannibal nods solemnly in acknowledgment. 

"I feel a staggering amount of obligation. I feel responsibility." He looks at Will, through him. "I... fantasize about scenarios where my actions may have allowed a different fate for you, and for Abigail Hobbs."

"For me?"

Hannibal smiles. "Of course. Although irrational, I have succumbed to visions of realities where I followed you closer, and guided your hand to not require so many decisions. Each shot you fired changed your perception of him, Will. He haunts you." 

Will blinks, and a wash of anger floods his face. "I am not your fault," he says, a near hiss. He continues pacing, and, deep in thought, thumbs the button of his empty holster. Hannibal watches him. 

"Come down from there, Will," he says smoothly, standing to meet him at the base of the ladder. Will shoots him a venomous look but concedes, ignoring Hannibal's aiding hand at the bottom. At another look, Hannibal blinks, the only suggestion that he's phased by Will's inconsideration. As Will moves to one of the intended seats for Hannibal's practice, he lingers over the gesture.

"You told me that you don't find me interesting," Hannibal continues. He paces over to the seat opposite Will's and crosses his legs smoothly, lacing his fingers around his knee. A blush of frustration and mild regret blooms on Will's cheeks like a dust of powdered sugar on a cake. 

"That interesting," he corrects, smoothing his pants with a long, strained sweep of his hands down to his knee. Interested, Hannibal cocks his head. 

"Has your mind changed?" he inquires languidly. Will starts to shake his head but stops. 

"I- I saw you. At the hospital," he says. He looks up from his lap now, trying to get it out as quickly as possible. The edges of the room seem to buzz with an apprehensive energy as he continues. "You were asleep, and you were holding her hand. Abigail's." Like a lion surveying it's territory, Hannibal shifts a fraction of an inch closer to Will, leaning forward in his seat. 

"And you found that interesting?"

"I found it surprising." 

Hannibal blinks and leans back again. "How so?"

A pause. 

"You don't seem to be the type who sits in a hospital room with strangers," he says. Hannibal nods is agreement.

"Usually I am not. Why were you there?"

"I- What?" Smiling, Hannibal nods to prompt his continuation. Will heard the question. After another moments pause, and in a whisper: "I was there for the same reason you were." Another smile from Hannibal as he rises.

"An astute observation. You understand me perfectly, and no longer need to be intrigued. If you want me to escort you out?" he says politely, abruptly, gesturing to the door with an open palm. Innocent, transparent. Will nods, blinking in shock but understanding that this is a request.

He lifts his coat from the back of his seat and moves towards the door, Hannibal at his heel. As he leaves, he feels a gentle, lingering touch on his shoulder. 

"However uninteresting I may be, I would love to talk again, Will. How does dinner sound?" he asks. Innocent, transparent. Will musters a smile and nods. 

"That sounds great."

"Friday at seven?"

"Yeah."

"I will see you then, Will." And with a chivalrous smile, Hannibal shuts the door in Will's face.

***

In the garden, Will sees Garrett Jacob Hobbs in another man's grave, and Freddy Lounds intrudes on Will's thoughts. 

***

The day he sees Garrett Jacob Hobbs, Will sees Hannibal again. When Hannibal opens the door, his surprise is politely masked. "Will, it's not Friday," he says, the joke twinkling behind his eyes. Will almost pushes past him and Hannibal blinks.

He turns to watch Will slide a sheet of paper onto Hannibal's desk as he flicks the lights back on, illuminating the space slowly, spotlight by spotlight.

"This may have been premature," Will grumbles, rubbing his eyes as he paces the room. Hannibal picks up the evaluation form, studying his own signature with unneeded scrutiny. 

"They'll revoke my rubber stamp."

"Maybe they should," Will laughs, whirling on him.

"What did you see? Out in the field." 

Will considers the question, debating how to answer. "Hobbs."

"An association?" He puts the paper back down and leans back against his desk, coat still folded neatly over his arm. When Will reaches the ladder, he hesitates and turns around.

"A hallucination. I saw- I saw him lying there. In someone else's grave." 

"Did you tell Jack what you saw?"

"No."

Hannibal almost shrugs, an elegant life of his fingers. "It's stress. Not worth reporting. The mechanism that distinguishes conscious perceptions from internal perceptions misfired. You displaced the victim of another killer's crime with what could arguably be considered your own."

Will glares at him for a moment, expressing his incongruence with the assessment, before pacing again. "I don't consider Hobbs my victim." 

Hannibal tilts his head slightly, a silent preamble, a voiced question. "Then what do you consider him?"

Will laughs sharply. "Dead."

Forcing himself to stop pacing, Will decides there should be another reason for him coming here, other than to misplace a simple confusion with a hallucination. Hannibal beats him to it.

"Is it harder imagining the thrill somebody else feels killing, now that you've done it yourself?" he says, almost slowly. Deliberately. 

For a moment, Will is stunned into silence. Frowning, he nods. "Yes," he says quietly. And Hannibal smiles.

***

At the hospital again, Will wonders what it would have been like for Eldon Stammets to plant Abigail in his garden, if only for her to reach for him.

***

"When you shot Eldon Stammets, did you know who he was?" Hannibal says. They are seated across from each other, Hannibal's gaze searching, Will's thoughtfully frustrated.

"I didn't see Hobbs."

Hannibal nods and adjusts his tie. "Then it is not Hobbs' ghost that is haunting you, is it? It's the inevitability of there being a man so bad that killing him felt so good," he purrs. Will looks up, brows knotted together in near confusion.

"Killing Hobbs felt just."

"Which is why you're here again, to sort this out now so as to not sour our dinner. To convince yourself that the sprig of zest you feel is from saving Abigail, our Abigail, and not from killing her father."

"I didn't kill Eldon Stammets," he breaths, "I only thought about it." Hannibal grins, the thin line of a cheshire cat.

"Because you understood him. Beautiful, in its own way. Giving voice to the unmentionable." Looking down at his hands on his knees, Will feels a twinge of something dangerous and heated in his chest. Something predatory. Alluring. "It wasn't the act of killing Hobbs that got you down, was it? Did you really feel so bad because killing him felt so good?" 

Will's gaze remains on his clenching and unclenching hands when he answers. "Killing Hobbs felt good," he whispers, a dull ripple in his voice. He wonders if it is pleasure that pulled the noise from him. 

"Killing must feel good to God, too. He dropped a roof on thirty-four of his worshippers last Wednesday in Texas, while they were on their knees, praying to him for forgiveness."

Will looks up, wetting his parted lips.

"Did God feel good about that?"

"He felt powerful."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope this chapter is better than the last one. I'm starting to deviate from the script more and learn how to use more fluid language as I go along. I hope you're enjoying these alarmingly long chapters (sorry!).

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first Hannibal fanfiction, in an attempt at clinging to these characters. I hope you enjoy what I'm doing: a full rewrite of all three seasons of Hannibal episode by episode, drawing from the script alone and adding my own parts! I hope to update at least weekly, as this summer may prove to be a busy one. Lots of love, Cereal


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